


Knock, And The Door Will Open

by powmeow



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Canon Het Relationship, F/M, Mild Sexual Content, Post-Star Trek Beyond, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-18
Updated: 2017-08-18
Packaged: 2018-12-17 00:56:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11840628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/powmeow/pseuds/powmeow
Summary: Uhura would not say that they were together. They never spoke directly of any rekindling, but in the dark, in the quiet of the station’s deep and viscous night, she sometimes heard a knock on her door: three evenly spaced raps, each the same pitch and volume as the last.





	Knock, And The Door Will Open

**Author's Note:**

> A little ficlet that's been on my mind for some time.

Uhura would not say that they were together. During shore leave at Yorktown, they had meals with each other occasionally, often with other members of the crew. One afternoon, they took a long walk through Yorktown’s botanical gardens. His mother’s necklace still weighed heavy between her collarbones, warm from how often she traced it with her fingertips. Yet, they did not touch each other with the same ease they once had. They never spoke directly of any rekindling, but in the dark, in the quiet of the station’s deep and viscous night, she sometimes heard a knock on her door: three evenly spaced raps, each the same pitch and volume as the last.

Uhura, pulling a robe close against the chill of her temporary quarters, pressed the controls knowing full well who she would find on the threshold when the door slid open. He never said much, but then again, he didn’t have to. He tugged the robe from her body, removed her undergarments with his usual care, perhaps even more gently than he had before, as though he felt her frailty more than ever. He held her tight to his body when he was inside her, like his hands were all that held her together. He buried his face into her neck and gasped, shuddered into her skin. It felt melancholy, possessive, loving in a way that she had never known him to love.

He stayed with her afterwards and lay facing her, which he never had before. They had always slept with him on his back holding her curled against his side. But now he stroked her face, tucked the damp strands of her hair behind her ear and she fell asleep like this, his eyes on her, his hand hot against her cheek. By the time she woke up, he was always gone. He never asked to meld with her anymore, but they shared instead this new intimacy—one that did not require their minds to touch.

She did not know what he was thinking. She used to take pride in knowing the machinations behind the man who was an enigma to everyone else, even their captain who was, in no uncertain terms, his best friend. Now she could not be sure.

She was, then, mildly surprised when he asked whether she would have any interest in joining him on sabbatical to New Vulcan.

“The New Vulcan Institute would welcome your inquiries on Vulcan linguistics and literature. They have a newfound appreciation for sharing their knowledge and traditions,” he explained after making this proposal on the patio outside of a restaurant, in a district of Yorktown untouched by Krall’s attack.

Uhura shifted her fork through her salad, not looking at him when she said, “That sounds great.”

“Additionally, there would be opportunity for you to teach a course on human customs to the new generation of Vulcan children.” He added. She felt the corner of her mouth twitch at the mention of Vulcan reproduction, which was, at its core, the reason for their initial break up.

“Sounds fun.” She quickly filled her mouth with greens before it could betray any trace of emotion.

Kirk didn’t ask any questions when she requested the assignment. He gave only one quick glance at Spock, who was filing out of the conference room behind Sulu. He nodded and said he would submit the request to Starfleet, with the assurance that they would certainly accept. They did.

When she conveyed the news to Spock a week later, he nodded. “It will be a pleasure to share your company,” he said.

“Where will I be staying? Are there any available long-term lodgings in the capital? Should I submit a request to connect with a host family?”

He tilted his head. “As I extended the invitation, I thought it was obvious that you will stay with me.” He paused. “At my father’s house. If you choose.”

She tucked her hands behind her back and said, “If it’s no trouble.”

“It is not.”

Two weeks later, they flew to New Vulcan, Yorktown diminishing to a small pearl in the black space behind them.

* * *

“The sky doesn’t burn the same way,” Spock observed as they watched their first dawn through his father’s kitchen window on New Vulcan.

They had risen early to prepare breakfast for Sarek and his new wife, who was expecting a child in a matter of months.

“It is odd to consider that I might become an older brother now, at this age.” Spock observed as he chopped a glistening tuber that would form the base of their meal.

“Exciting, though?” Uhura stirred the broth on the stove, her lips quirking into a smile.

“Children are unpredictable.” The tapping of knife on cutting board paused as he raised his gaze, once more, to the window. “Though not quite as unpredictable as me, since she will be full Vulcan. They are fortunate to have conceived a child without defects, given my father’s age, but she and her daughter face much lower risks than my mother and I did when I was in her womb.”

“Did she have a difficult pregnancy?” It was strange to talk so directly about his mother. She never had the opportunity to meet her, as their relationship had been a rather clandestine affair before the events of Nero’s attack, and he rarely spoke of Amanda openly since her passing. It was still tender, but perhaps less so, now that some years had passed.

“It was closely monitored. She had suffered several miscarriages prior to my birth.”

“You were a bit of a miracle, then?” She smirked and looked over at him.

He met her eyes with the slightest smile. “If by miracle, you mean a fortuitous combination of care and coincidence that lead to my safe and healthy delivery.”

“That does sound like a miracle.”

During the day, they hardly saw each other. Uhura was deep in research and academic discourse with members of the Institute, and Spock was busy in Federation diplomatic meetings, already planning the course of the _Enterprise_ ’s next mission in relation to Vulcan’s own exploratory ships.

They stayed in separate rooms. Sometimes they ate dinner in independent engagements, sometimes together in Sarek’s home, or as guests at an acquaintance’s place. Always, they bid everyone good night and retired to their own bedrooms. Then, when the house had grown still, she heard again at her door: three knocks.

Each time, when daylight came and she woke alone once more, she told herself, _I will not open the door next time_. And yet, she always did.

She could not bring herself to set boundaries. When he told her that they needed to separate, that he had a duty to perform, she did not fight him, or let him see her cry. She had resolved to let him go quietly. It was only logical.

But now she found herself clinging in a way she never did before. They had worked so hard, from the very beginning, for this relationship. It was almost snatched away so many times by so many different things—the Academy, Nero, Khan, Krall, countless hostile planets and civilizations, their own recklessness and folly. And more surprisingly, he clung back, not with his words but with the way he looked at her, the way he touched her in the dark.

* * *

Three weeks into their visit, Spock returned home and went straight to his room, instead of entering the common area where Sarek and Uhura were playing chess while Sarek’s wife read a book, the PADD balanced atop her growing abdomen. They all looked up as his footsteps approached the room, and then at each other when they receded up the stairs without pause.

“Check,” Sarek said, after a brief silence. Uhura moved her remaining rook to save her king.

He did not join them for dinner that evening. He offered no warning or explanation—he simply did not show up. If Sarek or his wife were at all concerned, they did not say so.

Later, she heard Sarek knock on Spock’s door from the staircase as she was on her way back to her room. The sound had the same pattern and cadence as Spock’s knuckles on her door. She paused, not wanting to interrupt. She heard the door slide open, and hushed murmurings in Vulcan, too faraway for her to catch. The door closed once more and Uhura continued up the stairs. She met Sarek at the top, his robes sweeping behind him as he approached her. He nodded as she passed, and she nodded in return.

That night, there was no knock on her door.

She waited, lying awake for hours, but he did not come. Finally, she stood and pulled on her robe. The hallway was impossibly quiet. She could even hear the wind shifting outside. Her bare feet hardly made a sound as she padded from the guest wing towards Spock’s rooms. She rapped on his door, three soft knocks. There was a long pause before the door opened. Spock was also in a robe—a dark red, Vulcan-style one hemmed with script.

“May I come in?” she whispered.

He nodded and stepped aside. The door slid shut behind him.

The room was dark, but unlike Vulcan, this planet had a moon, which cast a thin silver glow through the long windows by his bed. She could tell he had been meditating from the way the air was thick with incense and his bed was still perfectly made. She sat on its edge, creasing the smooth surface.

“What’s wrong?”

He did not answer at first, just stood in the shadowy space by the door, unmoving. His stillness was eerie.

“Spock?”

She saw the strangest thing as he stepped into the light: his eyes glistening. He was not quite crying, not the way he cried when he thought Kirk was lost. The tears were there, nonetheless, clinging to the whites of his eyes and the black orb set in the center of each.

He knelt before her, his eyes downcast. She reached for his hand and held it on her knees. “What happened?”

“I had a predetermined plan for the course of this trip.” He spoke finally, quietly. “Our most recent mission reinforced what I had feared—that I cannot lead a satisfying life without the _Enterprise_ , without you. That, despite logic, I am unwilling to part from you.”

She felt a tightness in her chest and she mirrored it by squeezing his hand more tightly.

“I had intended to donate my seed to the Vulcan Institute to be frozen and used to fertilize future Vulcan eggs to help promote genetic diversity. I thought by doing so, I would make my contribution to my species, and be free to return to our ship. To ask you to bond with me.”

She was happy, happier than she cared to admit, to hear his words. But his expression conveyed no relief or joy, so she withheld the elation ringing in her ears.

“It is quite common.” He continued after a long pause. “When you cross two species, the resulting offspring, while viable, is often sterile. I do not know why I never considered the possibility.”

“Oh, Spock.” She released his hand and cupped his face in both of hers, kissed his forehead and his cheek. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered in his ear.

She could not imagine the depth and shape of this wound. _Live long and prosper_ , was the phrase. “Prosper” carrying the implication of succession, legacy.

“I can neither be of service to my species, nor to you. I am unfit to be your partner—I cannot perform the most essential function of a mate.”

She laughed then, though she regretted it immediately. It sounded cruel next to his distraught confession. “Spock, it doesn’t matter. It’s fine. I love you, I love _you_. Not our future children, but _you_. We can figure it out.”

He didn’t respond or offer resistance. He let her pull him onto the bed, lie him down and kiss his face and neck. She held him. Unwrapped the robe from his body and teased until he could no longer resist, until he flipped her onto her back and opened her legs to him. His gasp when he finished was so choked, it could have been a sob in her ear. She held him to her chest and they fell asleep, still naked and woven together when dawn came pink and fresh through the windows.

When Uhura awoke, she was alone. In the kitchen, breakfast sat already prepared for them, with a note that only said, “I will return.”

* * *

Spock never told her where he went. He disappeared for over a week, with nearly all his belongings left behind. She never asked, either. She let him have that time for only himself. She and Sarek found each other often gazing out the window, as if his figure might appear at any moment. He did not, however, return in daylight.

One night, several days before she was scheduled to depart New Vulcan, Uhura heard a knock at her door: three evenly spaced raps, each the same pitch and volume as the last.


End file.
